


While I was sleeping

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Romance, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First he was asleep. And then he wasn't. [10/15/03]</p>
            </blockquote>





	While I was sleeping

## While I was sleeping

#### by silvina

  
Standard Disclaimer. Yes, yes. They've made me their bitch. Please send comments, questions, compliments,and otters to sdelcul@yahoo.com.  
  
  


* * *

Instinct prevented him from rolling over, and as he struggled not to wake up he realized why. He was warm, almost overly warm, because Jim was tucked up under his chin, arms wrapped around himself as if to prevent them from reaching out for Blair. 

This wasn't the first time Jim had ended up in his bed, not after Blair's near drowning at the fountain. And at first Blair had explained it away easily, to himself only, of course. This was definitely on the not-to-be-discussed-with-Jim list. But to himself, he'd explained it away as an instinctive closing of the barn door after the horse escaped, or a way of keeping the nightmares away for both of them. Suddenly fully, perfectly awake, he came to a startling realization. 

There would be no nightmares. Coming back from the dead, and he had been fully, utterly, clinically dead, of that there was no doubt, had burned the nightmares from him. He hadn't faced a nightmare, he'd faced reality. What nightmare could compare to the reality of being dead, and somehow knowing it? Death wasn't supposed to be a conscious act. 

Realizing that he was left without an explanation for Jim's continued presence in his bed, he found himself shaking Jim awake. 

This took an unbearably long time, as if Jim did not want to be forced awake and was fighting being pushed away or pulled for an explanation, and this did not make Blair feel better. 

"Jim," he whispered harshly. "Jim! Wake the fuck up all ready." 

"What? What? Jesus Christ, Sandburg, what is it?" 

"What are you doing?" 

"Sleeping. What does it look like?" 

"No, no. Why are you doing it in my bed?" 

Jim stared at him as if by asking that single, impertinent question, Blair had grown a second head or a pair of horns. He blinked and watched Jim swallow before replying. "You know why." he said finally, so quietly that Blair wasn't sure he'd heard right until Jim repeated it, "You _know._ " 

No Jim, you're wrong, he wanted to reply. He could interpret Jim's behavior. It was his job to account for Sentinel instincts to render Jim's behavior explainable, understandable, and somehow, maybe even predictable in the future. He'd certainly had the practice; growing up with Naomi had left him explaining many things to himself and justifying her actions to others. But this was different. Everything was different between them, and he couldn't blame it on a territorial imperative or Jim's biological clock ticking, or any other pat interpretation. Jim had been short with him for a while, _before_ Alex was even around. Whatever change had occurred, Alex wasn't solely responsible. 

He looked at Jim as if it was his turn to grow a second head. His body was reacting as if it were being attacked, muscles tight and ready for fight or flight. 

His eyes crossed, or maybe his heart twisted at the thought of Jim being afraid of _him,_ and the hamster started running again in its wheel. 

He knew, without a doubt, without a glimmer of self-consciousness: why Jim was angry, why Jim was in his bed, and why Jim didn't want to talk about it. Not that Jim ever wanted to talk about it. 

And for once Blair wished that he had just Left Things Alone. Had gone back to sleep instead of having one, two, too many damn epiphanies, and damn it he didn't want to know what he now knew because he didn't have a place for it. He didn't have a handy explanation for this at all. He hadn't signed up for this. 

"You're in love with me." 

And Jim closed his eyes and didn't respond, but it didn't matter because apparently three in the morning was a good time for Blair and epiphanies. Maybe he should put his mind on solving world hunger or something, but he was too angry to do so now. 

This man was in his bed, fucking in love with him, and he hadn't said a word! The nerve of him! 

And when had he closed his own eyes, anyway? 

He opened them, glad at least that Jim was still there, although he'd moved all the way over, as far away as he could get without leaving the bed, which thankfully just wasn't that big. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

He was sure, during the long minutes before Jim even appeared to have heard the question, that fear or something like it would be part of the answer, but Jim surprised him. 

"Because I hate you, too." 

What the fuck? He reeled back, literally, enough so that he practically fell off the bed, cracking his elbow hard on the nightstand as he barely managed to haul himself upright and damn it, Jim hadn't even moved. Blessed Protector my ass, he thought. 

He got out of bed because he needed to pee and he needed to think without Jim and his issues present. "Don't you dare move before I get back." 

He was out of breath by the time he got to the bathroom, an unfortunate side effect of near drowning that no one had told him about. He peed, feeling only an empty bladder leaving a hole of empty space in his abdomen, but knew it was only psychological. Washing his hands helped, as did wet combing his hair a little in the mirror. It wasn't that he wanted to pretty himself up for Jim, but it was no small comfort to not have bedhead while having a conversation neither participant wanted to have. 

Stepping back into the room he noticed three things. One, Jim hadn't moved, per his order. Two, Jim did have bedhead, and three, motherfucker looked good with bedhead. 

"Fuck it." he told his erection, and Jim too while climbing onto the bed. Jim was watching him warily, obviously not sure what to expect but knowing he wasn't going to like it. 

"Sometimes I hate you, too." he said angrily, but kissed Jim anyway. Then he did it again, longer, until he felt Jim's erection press against his own and pulled his hand from Jim's bedhead down his marvelous chest and down his boxers. 

"But other times you're okay." And then he came. 

3 AM wasn't a bad time for an orgasm either. 

* * *

End While I was sleeping by silvina: sdelcul@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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